


(Don't You) Forget About Me

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 15:52:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10166438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: Abbie tries to avoid her feelings for Ichabod. But he has other ideas. Pure fluff.I think Team Witness doing karaoke is my jam. This must be my 3rd story where it happens...?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [likebunnies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likebunnies/gifts).



> In response to the "First Kiss Challenge" on Tumblr started by @likebunnies .
> 
> I adore the SH Fandom.

 

 

“It’s Crane’s big debut at Mabie’s tonight,” Joe said conversationally from the fridge. He seemed to be at their house more often than not, and he had hollow legs, so between him and Ichabod, Abbie was constantly shopping.

 

Abbie looked up from the FBI training paperwork she was writing. The training seemed to be endless - new regulations on this, that and the other. “Oh yeah? They’re gonna let him back on stage after the sea shanty? People  _ left. _ ”

 

Joe closed the fridge, balancing a pack of pastrami, a pot of gherkins and a few slices of bread in one hand. “Apparently. You going?”

 

She thought about her responsibilities. How she should really cook dinner rather than eat out again. Then she thought about the smoky atmosphere of Mabie’s. Her friends laughing and clinking glasses. The smell of Ichabod’s coat, that somehow heady combo of old wool and woodsmoke. “Probably not.”

 

Joe skewered her with a look as he built a massive sandwich. “Shame. I think it’d be fun. I wonder what he’s going to sing.”

 

Abbie closed her book. It appeared she wasn’t going to get any work done with Chatty McCorbin occupying her kitchen. “Whatever he’s been hiding away in his room practicing, I guess.”

 

It unnerved her. The hiding in his room doing goodness knew what. His new haircut. His assimilation into 21st century life.

 

It unsettled her because  _ all  _ the new stuff… the new hair, the willingness to soak up modern life in that way he had, learning to cook, leaving her little gifts of hand picked flowers in their shared house… It fucking  _ disturbed  _ her on a basic level, because she liked it. She liked him.

 

She had thrown herself into work in a big way to avoid him. She’d thought that he’d been hiding in his room to give her his space. Maybe he had. Maybe he’d been practicing whatever he was going to perform tonight.

 

And if she admitted that she liked him in a situation with alcohol… well, who knew what would happen.

 

Joe crammed in the last bite of his sandwich. “Well, maybe catch you tonight.”

 

“Maybe,” she replied absent-mindedly. She’d see if she could tamp down her curiosity.

 

****

Abbie was as confused as anyone as she slid her jacket off and joined Jenny and Joe at a table near the stage.

 

Jenny slid an opened bottle of beer over to her.

 

Abbie took it. “You didn’t know I’d come.”

 

Jenny rolled her eyes. “Please. Am I your sister or am I your sister?”

 

Trying not to be disturbed by how transparent she apparently was, Abbie worried the edges of the beer bottle label as the current act on stage, twins wearing matching cowboy outfits, as they mangled a Taylor Swift song. Someone near the front threw a balled up flyer at the stage. It bounced off one of the twin’s fringy cowboy hats.

 

Abbie shifted in her seat.

 

Jenny held out a hand. “Don’t get all cop on his ass. It’s not illegal to throw things when an act is  _ that  _ bad.”

 

The song ended and the stage went dark.

 

“This is it,” Joe whispered.

 

“You’re more excited than everyone here put together,” Jenny smirked, nudging him with her elbow.

 

Some shuffling on stage could be heard along with the dragging of a stool. Finally a soft spotlight illuminated the stage.

 

Abbie almost choked on her beer.

 

Ichabod sat on the stool, one foot up on a supporting rung, one on the floor, his legs in his habitual long boots. His raised knee propped up one end of a beautiful lacquered wood guitar. He wore a grey tweed jacket over  dark trousers and a white button down shirt, the neck slightly open. A little woven leather bracelet winked on his left wrist.

 

The spotlight caught his hair, brought out the copper and the gold in the shortened locks. His long lashes lay against cheekbones like cliff edges as he looked down at his fingers, poised on the guitar strings. 

 

Abbie had no idea that she was leaning forward in her seat, straining for the first sound he’d make.

 

He played the first few chords of the song and she found herself hanging on every pluck of his fingers as the sounds echoed in the acoustics of the pub.

 

The moment he opened his mouth to sing, his deep baritone ensured that he held her attention in the palm of his hand.

 

_ Won't you come see about me? _

_ I'll be alone, dancing you know it baby _

 

_ Tell me your troubles and doubts _

_ Giving me everything inside and out and _

_ Love's strange so real in the dark _

_ Think of the tender things that we were working on _

 

By the time she recognised the song as Simple Mind’s “Don’t You Forget About Me” she was completely entranced. The willing moth to the burning flame. 

 

_ Slow change may pull us apart _

_ When the light gets into your heart, baby _

 

_ Don't you, forget about me _

_ Don't, don't, don't, don't _

_ Don't you, forget about me _

 

Applause thundered through Mabie’s when he finished the song and gamely stepped off the stage, approaching their table.

 

Joe pushed a glass of beer towards Ichabod. “Dude. You earned this. Where have you been hiding that game?”

 

Ichabod inclined his head slightly. “It is thanks to you, Master Corbin, that I have any “game” at all. Were it not for your guitar lessons, I would never have come this far.” He set his guitar down and saluted them with his glass before his robin’s egg blue eyes settled on Abbie. “Lieutenant. I wasn’t entirely sure you would attend.”

 

Abbie circled the opening of her beer bottle with her index finger, suddenly nervous. “Sure. I.. wouldn’t have missed it.”

 

Jenny and Joe both started making noises about going to the bar for refills and the price of beer these days. They slipped away, unnoticed.

 

“It seems an age since I saw you, Miss Mills.”

 

Abbie looked up into his face, so dear to her. They had been through so much together, nearly lost each other on so many occasions. She had thought that opening herself up to deeper emotions than those of the witness bond would just spell more danger, more damned  _ feelings _ , but what if she was missing out?

 

“I’ve…. Been busy.”

 

“So busy that I rather thought you had forgotten about my very existence.”

 

A smile tipped the corner of her mouth. “You sure picked a memorable way to remind me. I won’t again, you know.”

 

Ichabod leaned in slightly. His voice was very soft, just carrying to her ears through the clatter and chirp of the pub patrons. “Won’t…. what?”

 

“Forget about you.”

 

“Oh no, Lieutenant. I intend to ensure that. Starting now.” And he closed the distance between them, kissing her slightly parted lips.

 

The touch of his mouth on hers sent a current of want and need flashing through Abbie. As if a light had been turned on in a darkened room, she came alive, looping one arm around his neck and burying a hand in his lion’s mane of gold-kissed hair.

 

She hadn’t known how long she had wanted this until now. Until he took a match to the tinder inside her, a fire only he could truly stoke.

 

Damned if he didn’t taste of perfection.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
